Wax On Wax Off

I’ve never had my legs waxed before so when I found out how relatively cheap beauticians are in Naples I was ready to give it a go. 

An appointment was made by phone by my friend Jenny who speaks fluent Italian, requesting on my behalf to have my legs waxed and eyebrows tinted.  Feeling quite confident that nothing more needed to be done I set off on the appointed day, walking a few blocks before I realised that I had left the address to the beautician back at the hostel.  Recalling the instructions from Jen about how to get there, I forged on and eventually reached the building after a few twists and turns up and down the same street only to find I wasn’t quite there yet.  The beautician was situated in one of the many buildings you will see in Naples whereby you step through a small door that is part of a large set of doors opening into an internal courtyard.  From there, you either ascend steps to the required level or take an incredibly small and old elevator that only works if you have 10 cents. 

Buildings are usually managed by porters who have a small cubicle or office.  As I had no idea what level the beautician was I strode up and asked my usual question, ‘Parla inglese?’ receiving the usual reply, ‘No’.  I then quoted the incorrect business name, Blue Angel instead of Beauty Angel, which of course didn’t help the porter so I was left to my next resort of charades.  I wasn’t particularly keen to re-enact a bikini wax to the porter and his intrigued friend, and miming a leg wax may easily look as if I was brushing off bugs.  He tried to help by placing his two palms together to the side of his head and miming sleep to suggest that I was looking for accommodation, to which I replied, No, I want Blue Angel, appreciatiing how much that could have sounded like the name of a sex parlour and then pretending to draw eyebrows on myself.  Ah, si, si, si!  Both men responded.  They pointed to the stairs saying quattro piano. 

Up I climbed the four floors only to find the door to the business was closed. I knocked and waited.  No-one was seen in reception or walking about the interior hallway.  Eventually I found a buzzer in a not so obvious place that allowed me entry. 

The greeting beautician started speaking to me in Italian and unfortunately for me I didn’t know enough of the language (and still don't) to understand her.  I could only repeat, leg wax and eyebrow tint in an exaggerated way strangely believing that it would somehow help.

Following her into a room I removed my jeans and lay down on the bed.  Warm wax was spread on my legs with a metal spatula, like icing a cake.  It felt therapeutically good.  A piece of cloth was rubbed on top of the wax and zinnnnggggggg, a sensation spread up my legs like pins being inserted en masse followed by the lingering sting of a grazed knee, so I decided at this point to lay back and think of earlier Neapolitan times whilst she proceeded to apply wax and rip it off with such efficiency the upshot was that it wasn’t going to take long.

The room I was in was tiny but due to the curtained petitioning of the cubicles it was clearly part of a larger room in its day.  Slim, white narrow doors with an ornate doorframe once lead to another room has been walled off and now used as cupboards.  I pictured woman in dresses with huge side bustles like Marie Antoinette, stepping through the thin doors to take tea from fine bone china, or perhaps it had been their toiletry room and they were about to piss in a pot.  Ornate decoration is to be seen in anything old in Naples so I also pictured silk ribbons, tapestries and beautiful hand-stitched cushions.

The ceiling had exposed, worn, uneven beams enhanced by white plaster encasing them.  More French doors and shutters opened onto a balcony that faced the street below.  Shania Twain blared out from small speakers screwed to the wall and the beautician, possibly 20 something and wearing a Mini Mouse T-shirt, provided an opposing image of what this room has housed over hundreds of years.

When I was asked to turn over by a circular roll of the hand the back legs were then stripped of their hair and my toes curled up to brace myself from the sting of multiple hairs leaving their pore. 

There is something quite comfortable for me when not having the need to communicate with people in a shared space and it was also comfortable that my leg waxer knew what she was doing.  When the task was done and cream rubbed over my legs there was only one thing left to do - brow tinting.

Another beautician entered the room for this and Mini Mouse left.  Valleria, the owner of the salon, had walked in smiling and talking Italian.  I smiled and pointed to my eyebrows saying colore.  Si, she said. She moved towards me with some tweezers just in time for me to stop her.  I think again about what to mime.  I pinch my index and thumb fingers together arching them over my brows as if painting something; I think she understands this time only to see her going for the waxing pot.  No, no, signora, colore!  Relieved, she found the small mixing container for dye used for eyebrow tints and started mixing so I rested my head back on the pillow again able to relax. 

If I were at home having this process done I would be have been most particular about the depth of shade the brows were being tinted to avoid them looking like a mad lady set loose with a black brow pencil but I didn’t care if they came out purple I was pleased that we were both on track and made a mental note to myself that I would  prepare my sentences before I entered such arrangements.

Neapolitans are particularly good at getting the look right even if it’s a trashy one.  They appear to be very comfortable in taking charge and making decisions in their specialist areas, whether it be making coffee, mixing colour, selecting fruit or deciding what to wear.  I suspect the sentence, I’m not sure about that, is perhaps not in their vocabulary or psyche.

I left Beauty Angel with smooth legs for summer, brows that didn’t require the use of a brow pencil and a commitment to learning more Italian.  

ciao

hellsbells